The Probie
by Lastande Sarie
Summary: It's McGee's first kill and he's not sure how to handle it.  His team stands by him, his best friend never dreams of abandoning him, he grows up a little, and he just might have a happily ever after. Based on "Probie" from season 3.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own or have any affiliations with NCIS, CBS, Paramount, or Belisarius Productions.**

**A/N: This fic is based solely on one episode of NCIS and that is "Probie" from season three. I haven't really taken into account anything from other episodes even though I've seen many more. McGee has always been one of my favorite characters and this particular episode really intrigued me. A lot of this fic includes scenes from the episode, but I also expanded on it. Hopefully I wrote it well enough that you can read it and enjoy it whether you have or have not seen the episode. I realize that some parts of this may be somewhat unrealistic (like McGee telling his friend all about the case) but call it artistic license. **

**Please review – this is the first NCIS fan fic I've written and I had a lot of fun with it. I definitely want to hear what you think, but please keep it nice. I don't like mean people. Really, who does?**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 1

"Why aren't you answering my calls? And why aren't you calling me back?"

Timothy McGee sighed and flipped his phone shut without listening to the rest of the voicemail. He knew Gabrielle was worried about him, but he wasn't ready to talk to her. Not yet. Right now he just wanted some peace and quiet. It had been a long, hard night. Probably the hardest of his life. He dropped his bag onto the floor and set his phone on the desk. He just needed a few minutes to himself.

After taking a hot shower and changing into shorts and a t-shirt, McGee didn't really feel any better, except that he felt he was thinking more clearly. It was probably time to call Gabrielle. He sank onto the couch, cradling his cell in both hands. He had never been so hesitant to call his best friend before. What could he say to her after a night like tonight?

"Hi, it's me, your good old best friend. Not much going on here. Oh yeah, I killed a guy tonight." McGee spoke the words out loud, sarcastically. But they didn't help him to feel better, either. He frowned and speed-dialed Gabrielle's number before he could change his mind. She was easy to talk to – maybe the right words would just come to him.

She answered after the first ring. And she didn't sound happy. "Timothy McGee! I have been worried sick! Why didn't you answer? Or call me back? Even a text would have sufficed!" Gabrielle paused for a breath, but McGee didn't say anything. "Tim? You there?"

"Yeah. Hi, Gabby."

"What's wrong?" McGee could just picture her furrowed brow. They'd known each other so long, she could tell almost instantly when something was wrong. McGee had never regretted that before tonight. He didn't reply right away, and Gabrielle pressed, "Tim, you'd better tell me what's wrong or I'm going to drive over there right now. And you know this isn't just an empty threat. I'm putting on my shoes as I speak."

"Okay, okay. Don't get out of bed, I'll tell you."

"How did you know I'm in bed?"

"Because it's late. You're always in bed by now."

"Good point. So. Spill."

McGee took a deep breath. The words weren't magically coming to him as he'd hoped they would. He was just going to have to blurt it out. "Um…I'm not sure how to say this. It's not good…"

"Like a Band-Aid, Tim. Just get it over with."

"I killed someone tonight."

Gabrielle was silent for a good thirty seconds. McGee didn't say anything, knowing she had heard and was taking time to digest what he had said and formulate her response. When she did speak, her voice was low and deadly serious. "Are you okay?"

McGee shook his head. "Gab, I killed someone and you're asking me if _I'm_ okay? Aren't you more worried about the other guy?"

"No. You're my best friend. I'm worried about you." There was rustling in the background. "I'm putting my shoes on. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"No, really, please, don't—"

"Don't argue with me."

McGee sighed. He had been afraid she would react this way. "Really, Gabrielle, it's late. I'm tired. I really need to get some sleep so I can function at work tomorrow. Just stay there."

She paused. "Well…tell me what happened and then I'll decide."

McGee told the story as quickly and passively as he could. He didn't say what assignment he'd been on – protecting a CNO after he'd received a death threat – but he explained how he'd been keeping an eye out for the rest of the team when he saw a car in the alley. After he'd identified himself, the man standing outside the car arguing with the occupants had whirled around and fired. McGee had fired back, the SUV drove away, and the man was dead on the scene. It only took moments to tell the story, but as he relived the incident in his mind, McGee felt like he was watching it in slow motion. When he stopped talking, it took Gabrielle a few seconds to reply.

"Are you okay?"

"Honestly, I don't know." McGee closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the couch. "I wish I could say. I just don't know what I feel right now. Numb, I guess. Maybe I'm in shock. I just wish I could rewind my life twelve hours and redo. Everything's so jumbled up right now."

"Do you need me to come over?" Gabrielle whispered. "I really want to be there for you right now."

"You are."

"Over the phone doesn't count," she scoffed.

"It's good enough for now. We both need sleep because we both have jobs to do tomorrow. I do appreciate the thought, though, you know."

"I know." Gabrielle sounded as upset as McGee felt. "I'm sorry, Timmy, I wish I could do something for you."

The nickname made McGee smile. She was the only one who could get away with calling him that, and had been since they were eight. "You're doing it right now." McGee stood and walked into the bedroom, flipping the light switch on the wall as he went by. "Hey, Gabby, I'm getting in bed right now. I'll call you tomorrow."

"I'm taking you to dinner."

"Well…I'm not sure what tomorrow's going to hold. I'll call you and we can talk about it then." McGee slid between the cool sheets on his bed, already knowing he wouldn't get any sleep but also knowing he had to at least rest.

Gabrielle huffed. "Well, all right. But you had better call me, for real, or I'm going to hunt you down and drag you out to eat somewhere whether you're busy or not."

"I know."

"It's only for your own good! And I haven't seen you in ages anyway."

"I know."

"Call me if you need me, Tim. Anytime. You know that. Regardless if it's big or small."

"I know."

"Now you need to get some rest."

McGee cracked a small smile again. Hadn't he been the one trying to explain that to Gabrielle for the past few minutes? "I know."

"Call me!"

"I will."

"Bye."

"Bye." McGee hung up and gently set the phone on the nightstand. The room was engulfed in darkness when the phone's light went out. Only the digital clock on the dresser across his bedroom offered any kind of light.

Two a.m.

He had killed a man yesterday.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Of course, the disclaimer from chapter 1 still applies. I'm not making any money off of this story.**

**A/N: I meant to upload this second chapter soon, sorry about the delay! I hope you continue to enjoy this. All reviews are greatly appreciated. :)**

Chapter 2

McGee actually did get to sleep. Apparently he was so worn out from the stress that his brain shut down and he slept. When he awoke in the morning, it was with the feeling that he'd just suffered through a horrible nightmare he'd been struggling to wake from for a long time. It didn't take more than a couple seconds for him to realize that the nightmare was real life and he wasn't going to escape it just by waking up.

He got ready for work mechanically. When it came to pouring himself a bowl of cereal, he took one look at it and dumped it back into the box. There was no way McGee could eat this morning, he knew. He had never been so eager to get to work, and yet so full of dread at the same time. He just wanted everything to go away. Even a text from Gabrielle saying good morning and she was thinking about him didn't do anything to cheer McGee up. It was a somber drive to work without any music playing. Normally he had a classical music CD on, but he couldn't bring himself to start it. When he got to work, he got situated at his desk, texted Gabrielle back to tell her he'd call later, and headed straight down to autopsy as though he were being pulled by a magnet.

He walked in just in time to hear Ducky talking about the "kill shot." As if he needed anymore affirmation that it wasn't a dream.

"I'm sorry, McGee," said Ducky seriously. "That wasn't meant for your ears."

"Not a problem, Ducky." The coroner was just doing his job, after all. McGee took a few steps forward to stare at the body lying on the table and sighed. "I was hoping when I woke up this morning it was all a nightmare."

"Somebody needs a hug," Abby said, looking very sad. The lab technician wrapped her arms around McGee's neck, trying to comfort him.

McGee glanced at Abby's face as she pulled away and saw concern written all over it. He wasn't sure how to feel. "I was trained for last night, but…"

"No one is prepared for their first kill." Ducky fixed McGee with a serious gaze before turning back to the body.

Everyone had a job to do – including McGee. He shook himself back to the task at hand and looked at Abby. "I'm going to need you to run some prints. The driver's license was phony."

Abby nodded and also turned away. McGee watched the three of them for a few seconds, and then forced himself to leave. There were things to be done, if he could just keep his mind on work.

"Are you sure?"

"McGee, of course I'm sure." Abby still had that look of concern on her face. Normally she would probably snap at anyone who questioned her ability to do her job, but she spoke gently this time. McGee could tell she was really worried about him. And that didn't really help him to feel better. When he didn't speak, Abby tilted her head and bit the inside of her cheek. "Really, it's going to be okay."

"I don't know…I just don't know." McGee looked around the lab, overwhelmed. Everything was going wrong. "Abby…" But he didn't know what to say. He wasn't even sure what he was thinking. He certainly didn't know what he was feeling, except trapped and panicked on the inside. On the outside he was still the picture of calm.

"We should tell Gibbs," Abby said gently. She motioned toward the lab door and took a few steps in that direction. All McGee could do was follow her out of the lab, into the elevator, and straight up to Gibbs.

McGee couldn't meet his boss's eyes as he and Abby approached. He gritted his teeth, waiting for the moment when Gibbs would find out.

"What's wrong?" Of course, Gibbs would know immediately that something was wrong.

"I ran the fingerprint," Abby told him, all of her usual cheerfulness gone. McGee stood by silently. "The victim's real name is John Benedict." She stopped talking.

Gibbs nodded. "You got a record?" he prompted.

Abby looked over at McGee, giving him the chance to speak. He forced the words out. "It was a metro detective," he said, finally meeting Gibbs' eyes. "He was working undercover. I killed a cop, boss."

Silence fell over the three of them, and McGee could sense Tony and Ziva's shock as well. No one spoke for a long time, and it felt like forever to McGee. He waited for Gibbs to say something, anything. But what was there to say, really?

Gibbs finally told everyone to get back to work. He went to his own desk and immediately got on the phone. Abby gave McGee's arm a reassuring pat on her way back to the elevator and McGee turned to sink into his desk chair. He stared blankly at the computer screen for a long time before he realized his cell was vibrating in his pocket. He reached for it to see that he had missed a call from Gabrielle and had several text messages from her. He also realized it was later than he thought – almost noon. _Good_, he thought vaguely. _Maybe this day will go by quickly._ Then he pulled up the text messages from Gabrielle. They were all full of concern since she hadn't heard from him since early that morning, and she reminded him that she would kidnap him for dinner if need be.

McGee couldn't smile. But he texted her back quickly saying not to worry, he was just busy and would call her later. He hoped she wouldn't worry too much, but knowing her, she probably wouldn't stop calling and texting until she finally got a hold of him. He flipped his phone shut and slid it back into his pocket. With a sigh, McGee turned back to his computer, determined to force himself to focus and get something done. A shadow fell across his desk and he looked up.

"Come with me, McGee," said Gibbs. "We're going to talk to the director."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Yeah, I still have nothing to do with NCIS other than being a fan.**

Chapter 3

The bright reddish-orange walls of the lobby did nothing to relieve McGee's tension. He was sitting across from the Director Shepard's secretary's desk, trying not to look at anyone or anything, and trying to remain still and calm. Gibbs was standing not far away, as unreadable as ever.

"Can I get you anything?" asked the secretary. Was that pity in her voice? McGee looked up and decided it was. Pity was certainly written all over her face. McGee figured if their positions were switched, he'd pity her, too. Not only was he getting ready to face the director of NCIS, but the metro police captain and the dead police officer's partner. He was glad he hadn't eaten any breakfast.

Just after Gibbs turned down the secretary's offer, she told them to go on into the director's office. McGee hurriedly stood to follow Gibbs inside, doing his best to follow Gibbs' example of calm. It was hard to do when on the inside he only wanted to run from the building and never look back. He didn't feel any better when he walked through the doorway behind his boss and came face to face with Director Shepard herself, as well as two very grim-looking men.

"Special Agents Gibbs and McGee, this is Metro Police Captain Dan Karzin," said Director Shepard, "and Sergeant Keith Archer, the dead officer's partner."

Gibbs was eyeing them coolly and McGee tried to follow suit, but he couldn't help imagining how Sergeant Archer must be feeling right now. All because of him. "I'm sorry about—"

Captain Karzin's interruption was like a slap in the face. "Director Shepard already gave us the official NCIS condolences, Special Agent McGee. We're here to find out what happened."

McGee stared at him, unsure how to react. Everyone sat down and McGee felt as though the tension in the room could be cut with the proverbial knife. Karzin and Archer were staring daggers at him, Gibbs still seemed casually unaffected, and the director appeared to want to get this over with as quickly as possible. McGee understood the feeling. He tried not to quail under the glares of the metro police officers, but they had such hatred in their gazes that it was difficult.

"I'd like to ask Sergeant Archer some questions," Gibbs said. "You know why your partner was behind the hotel last night?"

McGee finally looked away from Archer and tried to ignore the memory replaying in his mind yet again. Archer turned to answer Gibbs. "No. We were off-duty."

"When did you last see him?"

Karzin answered this time. "Yesterday about noon. They were working undercover. Narcotics. Just got off a thirty-six hour shift." McGee glanced at Karzin just in time to see the captain look at him, too. "I read your report. I got some questions." He stared pointedly at McGee, and McGee tried to keep his expression neutral. "You say you identified yourself?"

"Yes, sir."

"Loud enough to be heard?"

"Definitely." He had practically shouted it, after all.

"And you contend that Lieutenant Benedict then turned and fired at you." This was a statement, not a question. Obviously Karzin didn't believe McGee's story, at least not the entirety of it.

"Yes, sir."

Karzin's gaze grew even harder. "So why can't you find a bullet? Or a weapon?"

Gibbs cut in. "We can't answer that, yet." McGee sat silently, willing it all to be over soon.

"Yeah, I can," Archer retorted looking back and forth from Gibbs to McGee. "Benny wasn't carrying one."

Karzin listened to Archer and looked pointedly at McGee. "Are you sure it happened like that, son?"

McGee dropped his eyes to the table and let the horrible scene reply in his mind for the umpteenth time. Stepping into the alley. Identifying himself. Seeing the gun and hearing the shot. Taking his own three shots.

But had he actually heard a shot? Maybe he'd just imagined it when he'd seen the gun in Benedict's hand. Maybe he'd overreacted.

McGee looked into Karzin's eyes again and answered the question. "It happened the way that I reported it, captain."

"I knew Lieutenant John Benedict. Maybe twenty years. He was a highly decorated officer. A great cop." He turned to look at Gibbs, who still, amazingly, looked only mildly interested and certainly not stressed. "And if Agent McGee had properly identified himself the way that he claims, there's no way that Benny would have acted threateningly."

McGee clenched his jaw. What else could he say? He'd already told his story. If the police officers didn't believe him now, nothing he could say would change that. He was saved from having to formulate a response by his boss.

"Evidently he did."

"I don't believe it," Karzin shot back. The two men stared at each other down the length of the table, Karzin angrily and Gibbs expressionlessly.

Director Shepard obviously thought it was time to intercede. She leaned forward as she spoke. "Special Agent McGee, why don't you return to the squad room. We'll call you if we need you."

He felt like a little boy whose fate was left to be decided by these grown-ups. McGee hated the feeling of helplessness that was coursing through him. He glanced at Gibbs, who gave a barely perceptible nod. McGee slowly stood , trying to ignore the angry stares of Karzin and Archer. Couldn't they see how horrible he felt about the whole thing? Couldn't they tell that he hadn't done it on purpose? That he hadn't set out to kill their fellow officer? That he genuinely regretted what had happened the night before. McGee paused with his hand on the back of his chair and looked up at Karzin. "I'm really sorry," he said softly, even though those words could not convey the depth of his remorse.

Then he turned and left, to wait in the squad room for the news from the meeting.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Instead of sitting uselessly at his desk the entire time, McGee decided he should call Gabrielle back. He really wasn't sure what he would say to her, but he didn't want her to worry. After a quick stop at his desk – he had been told to go back to the squad room, after all – he headed toward the elevator.

"Where ya goin', Probie?" Tony asked, not even glancing up as McGee walked by.

"To make a phone call," McGee replied quietly. He didn't stop to chat. "I'll be right back."

He heard Tony mutter something about not knowing why McGee couldn't just make the call from the office, but McGee pretended he hadn't heard. The elevator was empty and McGee savored the privacy. He left the building but didn't go far. Standing just a few feet away from the building in the bright sun, which was a shock after being inside all day, McGee dialed Gabrielle's number. She answered almost immediately.

"So, what is going on?" she asked, not even bothering to say hello.

McGee wasn't sure what to say. "Well…" He sighed and closed his eyes. "The man I killed last night was a cop. Working undercover."

"If he was a cop, why did he try to shoot you?" Gabrielle demanded.

"We're still trying to figure everything out," McGee explained gently. He actually felt like screaming to stop asking him questions because nothing made sense. "I'm still not sure how the rest of the day is going to go."

"And I'm still sure that I will come there and kidnap you – right out from under Special Agent Gibbs' nose if I need to."

McGee heard papers rustling in the background. Desperate for a change of subject, he asked, "How's your day going?"

"Oh, you know, the usual." Gabrielle was the executive assistant for the vice president of a nearby amusement park. It kept her busy, but she seemed to enjoy it. "A lot of paperwork, stuff to go through. Nothing glamorous."

"I'll trade you," McGee said bitterly. He was trying not to wallow in self-pity, but not succeeding very well.

"Oh, Tim." Gabrielle sighed. "I didn't mean to imply that—"

"No, I know. I'm sorry. I'm just feeling sorry for myself right now." He shoved his hand into his pocket and looked back at the building behind him. "I'd better get back to work. I just wanted to call you and tell you not to worry."

"You should know better. That's not going to stop me worrying," Gabrielle said in a wry voice.

"Well…not to worry so much, then," McGee corrected. "I'll talk to you later."

"Call me later when you know what time you can go to dinner," Gabrielle demanded.

"Or if."

"No if. When." Gabrielle's voice was firm. "We are going to dinner. That's the end of it. And I have no problem calling Gibbs or coming down there to tell him."

Now that would be a sight to see. McGee almost smiled. "Okay, I'll call you later." He hung up and headed back inside. He sank down at his desk, feeling trapped. Unsure what to do with himself, he looked down at the smooth, polished wood in front of him, lost in thought. He was troubled about his memories of last night, trying to remember for sure if the gun Benedict had been holding had been fired – or if it was even pointing at him when McGee saw it.

Ziva's voice interrupted his ponderings.

"DiNozzo, look at this. Got a possible." She was staring intensely at her computer monitor, trying to find the owner of the SUV that McGee had seen in the alley. Since he couldn't remember much about it, it was not an easy task. Tony rushed over to stand behind her. Ziva described the man she had found, finishing with, "…drives a 2003 dark blue Ford Expedition. First two digits of license plate – eight, nine." The only numbers of the license plate McGee could remember.

"McGee!" Tony and Ziva both looked over at him. "Was the SUV as big as an Expedition?"

McGee looked at Tony and frowned, trying to remember. "Uh, maybe…I don't know. I'm not sure."

Tony looked disappointed and Ziva was talking again about a protest group that the man belonged to and how he had been arrested for defacing the main entrance of the Pentagon with horse manure.

"Call me crazy, but a guy who belongs to a group called CACA and smears horse pucky on a government building isn't making death threats," Tony said.

The conversation was interrupted. Gibbs was storming down the stairs, calling for DiNozzo and David to find the bullet in the alley. Everyone sprang to their feet.

"Boss, we spent hours," Tony protested. "We covered every inch of where McGee was standing when he—" Gibbs cut him off with a look. "Well, maybe we'll find something in daylight."

"We're working the protestor angle," Ziva informed Gibbs.

"I don't think that cop being there had anything to do with the threat against that CNO," Gibbs replied, bent over his computer. McGee stepped forward, wondering what Gibbs was talking about. "Can somebody tell me what is going on here?" Gibbs demanded, standing up and looking at the rest of them. "First, Abby's lab nerd frames DiNozzo for murder and then McGee kills a cop. Did somebody break a mirror?"

Tony and Ziva made a quick exit, and McGee stepped up to Gibbs' desk.

"Boss, can I go with Tony and Ziva?" He had to get out of the office. Had to be doing something. It was the doing nothing, the sitting around and waiting that was really getting to him. If he was able to do something to help, or something productive in some way, McGee knew he would feel much better.

"No. Metro P.D. is out to get you," Gibbs replied. He never had been one to mince words. "You find the bullet, it's compromised evidence."

McGee understood his point, but it didn't make the helpless feeling go away. "What should I do?" he asked, almost on the brink of desperation.

"Find that SUV."


	5. Chapter 5

More waiting. McGee leaned back in his chair and watched the computer running through some records he'd pulled up, searching for a match. He began tapping his fingers on the chair arm. Just then, his desk phone rang, startling him.

"Agent McGee," he answered.

"Come down to the lab," came Abby's voice.

"Why? Did you find something?"

"Just get down here." Then she hung up on him.

McGee stared curiously at the receiver in his hand. She hadn't sounded upset. It didn't even sound urgent, despite her insistence he go to the lab. Well, it wasn't like he was doing much else. Hanging up his phone, McGee left his computer to its work and walked quickly toward the elevator. Maybe if he walked with purpose he could make himself believe he was actually being helpful.

He was surprised when he reached Abby's lab not to hear heavy metal screaming at him before he even walked in the door. A totally different kind of music was playing instead, that made McGee think "zen." He shook his head. You never knew what to expect with Abby.

"How you doing?" she asked when he walked in.

He nodded. As well as could be expected, he supposed. "Okay," he said out loud. His curiosity got the better of him and he asked, "What's this music?"

Instead of answering, Abby turned away from him to focus on her computer screen. "I'm almost done here."

"Tox screen?" McGee asked, noticing what she was working on.

"Yeah, it's Benedict's," Abby replied. "Ducky said his liver showed signs of cirrhosis, but he was clean and sober last night."

_Great news_, McGee thought sarcastically. _Makes me feel so much better._ "Is that why you called me down here?"

"Nope. Come with me, McGee." A mischievous smile spread across Abby's face as she looped her arm through McGee's and tugged him across the lab.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. What was she up to now? "Where are we going?" he asked suspiciously.

"Your therapy session."

"What?"

McGee didn't like the smile that was still on Abby's face. She opened the door to an office and motioned him inside. Slowly, McGee entered. "What is that smell?" he asked. Candles were lit all around the otherwise dark room.

"Aromatherapy." Abby sounded pleased with herself despite McGee's still-suspicious look in her direction. She began to explain. "You're stressed. Anxious. Thirty minutes in here, and you'll be back to your old self." McGee was now looking skeptically at the candles. "Probably even better. Now sit."

McGee began to protest, but Abby was paying no attention. McGee noticed something that looked like tart burners on the desk in front of him, but there was liquid in the top instead of a tart. "What are these things?"

Again, Abby looked very happy with what she had done. "Frankincense, lavender, and neroli oil."

"You know what, I'm going to pass." McGee made to stand up, but Abby reached for him and forced him back into the chair. Before he realized what she'd done, he was handcuffed to the chair and Abby had left the room, ignoring his statement that he needed to get back to work, and saying he would have a new perspective when he was done. He didn't know what "new perspective" she was talking about that he would see things from, but he didn't think she meant an annoyed perspective. But that's all Abby was accomplishing – annoying him. Now he was stuck doing just what he'd been trying to avoid – nothing. Keeping busy was what he needed. Not sitting in this office with stupid candles.

"Aromatherapy," he muttered. "I just want to get this all over with. I won't feel better until then, no matter how many smells I inhale." He glared around the office, wondering how long Abby was going to leave him in there.

Eventually he decided to at least make an attempt to look calm. The calmer and more relaxed he looked when Abby came back, the more likely she'd be to let him out. At least that's what he hoped. It wasn't like he had any better plans, handcuffed to the desk chair as he was. So McGee leaned back in the chair, resting his head on the back of it. He sat for a long time like this, with his eyes closed, far from relaxed. The thought occurred to him that Abby might think he was sleeping and not want to disturb him, so his eyes flew open and he sat up straight.

Abby was still gone. McGee frowned. His computer should be done going through the records by now. He wanted to see what it had come up with. He also needed to call Gabrielle back like he'd promised. But he'd left his cell phone on his desk. He knew Abby was just trying to help and really did want him to feel better, but she didn't realize that she was actually going about it in completely the wrong way.

McGee forced himself to appear relaxed again, and not a moment too soon because Abby showed up just then. She poked her head in the door. "Feeling better?" she asked.

"Absolutely," McGee replied, focusing on remaining relaxed.

"Refreshed?" She entered the room and stood just in front of him, hands on her hips.

"Totally new perspective. Now will you please unhandcuff me?"

Abby tilted her head. "Are you lying to me?"

"Abby, does it matter?" McGee inhaled deeply. "I'm trying to work on finding the SUV and I have a dinner date that I need to set up but I can't do either because you have me handcuffed to this chair. Please let me go so I can call my friend so she doesn't think I've died."

That seemed to get through to her. "Well, at least you're feeling more talkative now," Abby said cheerfully, leaning down to unlock the handcuffs. "And you're concerned about someone else. Your worry about your girlfriend is a good sign. Have fun on your date!"

McGee didn't bother correcting her. He left while he had the chance.


	6. Chapter 6

"Gabs, I'm sorry, really," McGee said before Gabrielle could even say "hello." He'd called her as soon as he got back to his desk, free at last. "I was going to call you before now, but I got…well, it's a long story, I'll tell you later."

"It sounds interesting." McGee could hear the smile in her voice.

"Yeah, well, you'll probably think it's funny."

"You can tell me over dinner then. I'm on my way to get you now."

"Oh, why don't I just meet you some place." McGee began putting his stuff away and shutting down the programs on his computer. "Where do you want to go?"

"Olive Garden?" Gabrielle suggested their favorite restaurant. "I'm almost there. I'll get us a table."

"Okay." McGee barely registered that the computer had found nothing useful in the records he'd run before he turned it off. He grabbed his jacket and stood. "I'll see you in a few minutes then." He hung up with Gabrielle and left, glad that Tony, Ziva, and Gibbs were all nowhere to be seen. He was tired of them eyeing him and didn't want to answer any of their questions or deal with Tony's ribbing right now.

It only took him a few minutes to reach Olive Garden, and he was shown to the table where Gabrielle was sitting. He slid into the chair across from her with a relieved sigh and closed his eyes. It was good to get away from work and just relax with his best friend for a little while. McGee opened his eyes to see Gabrielle watching him closely, tucking her long, curly auburn hair behind her ear.

"What?" he asked self-consciously.

"Nothing." She smiled and looked down at her menu. "I'm just glad to see you."

McGee picked up his own menu. He hadn't eaten since yesterday. After his skipped breakfast, he'd been so tense that he'd forgotten all about lunch. He was surprised that he actually felt hungry now. It was probably because he was able to relax somewhat. Everything on the menu looked good, though. He tried to decide quickly so Gabrielle wouldn't have to wait.

"Oh man…" Gabrielle moaned. She looked up to see McGee's inquiring glance and said, "I don't know how I'll ever choose. I think I'm the most indecisive person ever when it comes to menus. Just when I think I've decided, I see something else I might like."

"Maybe we should tell the waiter to surprise us."

"I'm scared to do that," Gabrielle replied with a look of horror. "You never know what they might bring us! Maybe I should just let you choose for me."

"I can't even decide on my own food."

Gabrielle grinned at him and her brown eyes sparkled with amusement. "I have an idea," she said. "I'll order your food for you and your order mine." When McGee looked skeptical, she hurriedly added, "And we can share, if we want. I won't order you anything gross, I promise."

"Well…okay," McGee agreed reluctantly. But when the two of them started discussing the menu and teasing each other about what they could order, McGee felt much of his tension from the day evaporate. He shoved all his work concerns out of his mind to enjoy the time with Gabrielle. The rest of dinner was just as relaxing; Gabrielle enjoyed his story about Abby and the aromatherapy, and McGee was actually smiling when they left the restaurant later, Gabrielle's arm linked through his.

"That was delicious," she was saying in a contented voice. "Thank you for dinner."

"Even though you said _you_ were taking _me_," McGee retorted playfully.

Gabrielle punched his arm lightly. "Hey, you're the one who insisted on paying. When a sweet guy offers to pay for my dinner, I never refuse."

"Never?" McGee raised an eyebrow. "Do you really mean that?"

"Okay, okay, no, not really." Gabrielle laughed. "Only if it's you."

"I see how it is." McGee tugged her gently over to where they had parked. "Thanks for kidnapping me."

"Even though I didn't really get to," Gabrielle pouted. "I was really looking forward to coming to your office and snatching you away from your work right out from under Gibbs' nose!" She giggled, but at the mention of work, McGee's smile faltered. Gabrielle noticed this and grew serious. She sighed and turned to face him, leaning against her car. "Oh, Tim. I hope everything gets resolved quickly. I hate to see you so upset."

"It doesn't matter how it gets resolved," McGee said bitterly, "I still killed a cop."

"But he fired at you first!"

McGee shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Gabs. I'm not so sure anymore. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if he actually did fire or if I just freaked out and imagined it."

"Your memory can play tricks on you, I won't deny it." Gabrielle put her hand on McGee's arm. "But either way, you didn't purposely set out to shoot an undercover cop. You felt threatened by whatever was going on in that alley and acted to defend yourself. That's all. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I don't know. I just really despise myself right now."

Tears sprang into Gabrielle's eyes and she threw her arms around McGee, resting her head on his shoulder. She didn't say anything for a long time, just hugged him. McGee was glad. He didn't really want to talk. Gabrielle was the only one he knew he could talk to like this, being completely open. But at the same time, he didn't have to say every little thing that was on his mind because she knew him so well. That was probably why she knew he didn't feel like talking right now. When she pulled away, her eyes were still shining with tears, but her face was dry as she looked up at McGee.

"I wish I could say something that would make it all better." Gabrielle lifted her hand to his face and caressed his cheek with the back of her fingers. "But I do want to tell you that you're still the same sweet Timothy McGee I've always known and loved, regardless of how you feel about yourself right now."

McGee just blinked, staring down at her.

"You should get home and get some sleep," Gabrielle whispered, giving him another quick hug. "I'll be checking on you frequently. Promise you'll call me if you need me." When McGee didn't respond, she slid her hand down his arm to squeeze his fingers. "Promise."

"I promise," was his hoarse reply.

"Good." Gabrielle stood on her tiptoes to brush a kiss against his cheek and then she left.


	7. Chapter 7

An hour or so later, now in the t-shirt and shorts he wore to bed, McGee pulled out his typewriter to work on his novel. It was comforting to lose himself in the characters' world, and typing on a typewriter had always been soothing to him. He sat at his desk, letting the clicking of the keys lull him into a distracted kind of relaxation. He wasn't sure how long it had been when a pounding on his front door brought him back to reality.

He considered not even answering, but the noise grew louder and more insistent. Rolling his eyes, McGee stood and walked over to the door, already suspecting who it was before he even looked through the peephole.

"Ah-hah, open up, McGee," said Tony, staring straight back at him.

McGee opened the door a crack just wide enough to talk through. This was not what he wanted to deal with right now. "Tony, I'm really not in the mood."

"Let me in."

Rolling his eyes again, McGee stepped out of the way and let his co-worker inside. He didn't even have the motivation to argue with Tony. "Okay, you're in, what do you want?" McGee asked, not leaving the front hall. Maybe Tony would make this short and sweet. McGee didn't even care that he sounded ruder than usual. He didn't feel like his usual self.

"We're going out," Tony announced.

Still not moving, and completely uninterested, McGee asked, "Where?"

"When the going gets tough, the tough go clubbing," Tony quipped. "We have got to get you dressed."

McGee stared at him with an expression of mild disbelief. How could he say this nicely? "Tony, I really want to be alone tonight, okay?"

Tony gave him a knowing look and turned to walk toward McGee's bedroom. "No, you don't." McGee followed slowly behind, still trying to figure out how to get Tony out without physically throwing him out. "Still working on the novel, I see, huh?" Tony commented.

"DiNozzo, I'm begging you, do not rag on me tonight, okay?" McGee hoped Tony would hear the seriousness in his voice and listen. It wasn't likely, but McGee still hoped.

"Well, I wouldn't be DiNozzo if I didn't," came the response as Tony opened McGee's closet. "You got any party clothes, McGeek?"

"Tony—"

"Baby, you are not going to be scoring in any of this stuff…"

"Hey, would you stop?" McGee had reached the end of his rope. He was tired of people trying to make him feel better. Why wouldn't they just listen to him? He just wanted to be alone tonight. He didn't want any aromatherapy and he certainly didn't want Tony coming in and criticizing his wardrobe. He wasn't in the mood. "I'm not going anywhere." McGee stormed out of the room and out to his computer desk. He almost instantly regretted snapping at Tony like that.

"Hey," said Tony, walking slowly out of the bedroom, "listen, man, I'm sorry, I just wanted to…"

"I know, I know, I know." McGee sank into his desk chair, feeling miserable. "I know you're just trying to help." He shook his head and sighed before looking up at Tony as all his doubts and worries overwhelmed his mind. "I'm not like you guys. You were trained as a cop. Gibbs was a marine sniper. Kate protected the President of the United States. God only knows what Ziva did with Mossad." McGee looked down at his desk for a moment, lost in thought, and then back up at Tony. "My background is biomedical engineering and computer forensics. I don't think I'm cut out to be a field agent."

There. He had said it. It was what he had been thinking for the last twenty-four hours. After all, someone who was really meant to be a field agent wouldn't be feeling so guilty about killing someone in this situation, right? He certainly wouldn't have freaked and fired if the other guy hadn't fired first. And McGee was more and more worried that maybe he had read the situation wrong and Benedict hadn't fired first. The more he thought about it, the more he suspected that he had misread everything that had happened.

Tony sat on the edge of McGee's desk, and McGee could tell he was thinking seriously about what McGee had just said. At least Tony was taking him seriously and not trying to make light of what was going on. "The first time I shot at someone," Tony said in a soft voice, "I wet my pants."

McGee looked at Tony, skeptical. "Really?"

Tony nodded seriously. "Really." Then he looked a little concerned. "If you tell anyone that, I will slap you silly." Tony waited until McGee nodded slightly, then stood up. "You got anything to eat?"

McGee didn't answer or move. He appreciated Tony trying to help. But he was still concerned about his memory. He vaguely heard Tony talking in the kitchen.

"I know it's bad," he called. "I've been where you are. But a week from now, this will all be behind you. Just a bad memory."

Maybe Benedict hadn't even been pointing the gun in McGee's direction, let alone firing it at him. McGee went over it in his mind. As he replayed his memory again, he was almost certain that Benedict had actually been raising his hands in surrender, the gun pointed in the air and not toward McGee. He stared into space, having completely forgotten Tony's presence, going over the memory again and again, trying to make sense of it all.


End file.
